The Godfather
by The Auburn Girl
Summary: Mr. Gold is Michael and Belle is Kay, and instead of it being an Italian mafia, it's a Scottish one. One-shot because I had to Rumbelle one of my favorite scenes in the movies. Takes place in the beginning of Part II at and after the party. Rumbelle Godfather AU.


_A/N: I decided to drag this from Tumblr and post it here. Some lines are taken from the movie (I own nothing). I decided not to post this under crossovers because no one would see it if I did, and because it is a one-shot so... Also, if I got the Gaelic wrong, I'm sorry. I did try XD Enjoy!_

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Robert Gold was a simple man who lived by a set of principles: family was family, blood was blood, and treachery was the worst breach of trust. Any man who betrayed his brethren was the lowest of scum, and he firmly believed that without family, there was nothing left for a man. Family was everything. So when one of his deceased father's close friends wished to speak with him, Gold graciously invited him into his private office. Nevermind the fantastic party that took place outside. Nevermind his wife Belle who had asked for a dance before the night's end. This was business that could not be delayed.

Business that dealt with the McKinley brothers was important, and while his father's friend Angus wanted the lads dead, Gold needed them alive. Giving them fair treatment would give him a foothold in the Jewish stronghold in Florida. Angus could ruin his plans by harming the McKinleys, and that was a problem that had to be fixed.

"Sit, please," Gold ordered, taking a seat in his leather chair. The office he'd invited Angus into was darkly lit and foreboding. Richly furnished, the room contained plush chairs, darkly light alcoves, and a bar organized with expensive bottles of scotch. The atmosphere was falsely calm and deceiving. It was meant to intimidate.

Angus was an older man. Time had been unkind to his scarred, weathered features, and the strain of running the family business in New York had taken its toll on his mind. As a result, he had taken to the bottle and the presence of alcohol at the party had not helped. He now sat before Gold in a drunken state. "Now..." Gold said, eyeing Angus behind clasped hands. His dark eyes moved quickly over his henchmen sitting quietly in the background before moving back to the slightly incoherent man. "Fraser promised the McKinleys three territories in the Bronx. When he died, you took over, and you haven't given the territories to the lads. Why is that?"

Gold prided himself on his reputation of being fair; he was dependable and could get the job done, and his clients did not have to worry. He had a family name to live up to after all. Angus' conduct could push back all his work to maintain his family's name.

"I welched?" Angus asked, sitting forward in his chair.

"Aye. You welched."

Angus snorted, then waved his hands around. "Fraser promised them nothing—" he said, switching over to Gaelic. Gold caught his cursing. "—He promised them nothing, Bobby. He hated those sons of bitches more than I do! So I give them nothing."

Watching the man sway in his seat, Gold took a quick sip of his scotch. "They feel cheated, Angus. And I can't have that."

Once again, Angus snorted. He twirled his fingers through the air and pointed in the direction of the Sierra Mountains. "Bobby, you're sitting up in the mountains, sipping—eh—" He turned to his hired man seated in the back. "—What is he drinking?"

"Champaign."

"—Champaign!" Angus affirmed, twisting back to face Gold. "Champaign cocktails... And you're passing judgment on how I run my family out east in New York."

A burst of anger sparked in Gold's chest. _His _family? Angus had the Gold name and was therefore under Gold's domain. _Gold _ran the family and orchestrated all of the family business' actions. _He _was the powerhouse with the most connections, the most influence, and any man who claimed his name had to answer to him.

"_Your _family?" he hissed, sounding deadly. "Your family is still called 'Gold' and you will run it like a Gold because I say so, Angus." The man was trying his patience, and if he pressed further into questionable territory, Gold would send him away. He hated people wasting his time, and he'd rather be dancing with Belle then dealing with a drunkard who was being disagreeable. Yet he was a patient man, so even when Angus challenged him further, he feigned a peace he did not feel. "Angus, you're a good man...and I like you, despite your tendency to overdrink," he quipped, though it sounded dangerous. He stood, walked slowly towards the man, and sat down in a chair close to him. "You were loyal to my father for many years."

The softer words seemed to calm the old man. He sighed, the tension going out of his shoulders. "The McKinleys are taking hostages, Bobby. They practically spit in my face, and they're willing to challenge my authority. All because they're backed up by that Jew in Miami."

Gold knew this. His sources had informed him long before this conversation. "I know—that's why I don't want them touched, aye?"

A flare of rage lit in Angus' glazed over, blue eyes. He froze, meeting Gold's gaze with a glare. "You don't want them touched?" he whispered, speaking in Gaelic.

"Aye," Gold affirmed, leaning back. The man could be infuriated as much as he wished; no matter what he did, he wouldn't change his mind. "I want you to be fair with them and live up to the family's name. That's an order."

Laughing, Angus rose from his seat and shook his head. He might have been drunk but somehow he remained balanced. With voice increasing in pitch, he cried, "Fair? You want me to be fair, Bobby? How can you be fair to animals that are more worthless than our piss? They recruit those yellow-faced folk and black men and do violence in their grandmother's neighborhood!" His voice grew louder, and Gold watched him all with growing impatience. "They sleep with whores instead of their wives! And they leave the gambling to the last! Now I want to run my family without you on my back and I want those McKinley bastards dead!"

He finished with a roar, though the roar did nothing to move Gold from his position. He didn't flinch or shift. He only stared Angus down and gave him his fiercest expression. The man was a fool if he thought he'd be cowed by a little shouting.

Slowly, Gold stood agilely from his seat. "No," he answered, firm. His eyes trailed to Jefferson, one of his right hand men, reclining in a shadowed alcove. They flashed back to Angus. "Now I have business with Hyman Roth—I don't want it disturbed. If you touch the McKinley lads, you will have me to answer to."

"And you give your loyalty to a Jew before your own blood."

Gold sighed, wanting to laugh maliciously in the face of his father's friend's bitterness. His father, the original Godfather, had brought their family to the level it was now. And he would die before he saw it dethroned from its current position. "Angus, you know my father did business with Hyman Roth. He respected him, treated him fair, and I wish to work with him. Now I don't want any more of this bloody nonsense."

The old man stumbled slightly but found composure when his man's hand steadied him. He turned, confronting Gold with a severe look of displeasure. "Your father did business with Hyman Roth, your father respected Hyman Roth. But your father _never _trusted Hyman Roth or his fucking messenger boy!" He bowed his head at Gold's cold look. "You'll have to forgive me, I'm tired and a little drunk," he muttered in Gaelic. "And I want everybody here to know there will be no trouble from me! None! Kennedy, the door!"

Angus marched through the doorway and exited in a flurry of curses.

Jefferson was on his feet the second he was gone. He peered questioningly at Gold as he took another sip of his scotch, and then nodded in the drunken Gael's direction. "You want him to leave now, boss?"

"Let him go back to New York. I've already made my plans, and the old man has had too much wine."

Now that Angus was gone, the sound of the orchestra could be heard through the walls. Music played loud and clear, and echoed through the emptiness of the night. The soft tunes reminded him of Belle. Of his promise of a dance. "See that there is no more trouble."

Finishing off his scotch, Gold rounded the chairs and exited his office. He walked down the hallway to the front door, opened it, and then stepped out into the warmth of the night. The music was much louder outside. But now the voices of his invited guests joined in the thrum of noise.

Couples waltzed on the dance floor, people made conversation at tables, and children whined about how late it was. Gold had to bite back a smile at their words because they reminded him of Balfour and Genevieve. _His_ little ones were in bed, and there was no doubt in his mind they were passed out by now.

It took some searching, but he spotted Belle amidst a sea of men and women. She was settled in a comfortable chair, her eyes intent on the couples on the dance floor. A few men sat at the fringes of the table. Gold recognized them; they were the guards he'd hired to protect her.

As he approached the table, he signaled for the men to leave. They stood, their departure not caught by his lovely wife's preoccupied eyes. So when he snuck up quietly behind her and placed his hands on her chilled shoulders, she jolted. Her azure eyes met his and he saw her lips part in a small gasp. "Robert," she murmured, relieved. When she moved her hands from her stomach, he realized she had had her hands over their child.

A shiver of happiness shot down his spine.

"You're cold," he whispered, stooping to give her a quick kiss. "We should get you inside."

She grinned, showing off her perfect smile. And not for the first time tonight did Gold think her the most beautiful creature in the world. "Not now. You owe me a dance."

"Aye," he admitted, rubbing her arms to give her warmth.

Belle leaned her head against his shoulder. Her chestnut tresses tickled his ear. "You spoke with Angus?"

"Aye..." He spoke softly and kissed her neck, not wanting to think about the old man. His thoughts were all on his gorgeous wife and their baby growing inside her womb. He gave her vulnerable skin another lingering kiss.

"Stop," Belle objected half-heartedly. "We're in public." He chuckled breathlessly, not worried. Most of their guests were tipsy from alcohol, or their attention was on the dance floor. They would not be watching him kiss his wife.

"No one is looking, _mo ghaol_," he whispered in her ear, teasing her. She shivered, and he maneuvered around the chair, grabbed her hands, and eased her from her seat. "I owe you a dance, then it's inside with you, aye?"

Nodding, she allowed him to guide her past couples exiting the dance floor. Her hands were cold in his, and he planned to have her warmed by the end of the dance. He brought her out in the middle of the floor and worked them into step. "Did you enjoy today?" he wondered once they swayed to the music. She was pressed closely to him with her head resting just beneath his chin.

"I did," she admitted, pulling away to stare into his eyes. There was something in her expression that he did not like. It was a frown full of worry.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..." she lied. He knew it was a lie because a blush of shame colored her cheeks, but he decided not to press her because she hid her face against his chest. "I'm just tired."

They danced in companionable silence for a few minutes, simply enjoying the music and the movement of the crowd. Gold held his wife close, letting his eyes search the party for his men. So much was going on, so much was about to happen...and soon all of his plans would fall into place. And in the midst of it all, Belle would give him another child. "How's the baby?" he questioned lovingly, speaking his thoughts. His gaze trailed down her dress to the small bump that pronounced his claim on her.

Belle leaned back from his chest, her face bright with wonder. "Sleeping inside me," she said gently, and then relaxed against him again.

Gold gave her his most private smile. He kissed her temple and breathed, "Aye? Does it feel like a lad or a lass?" His deepened brogue had her smiling against his neck.

"A boy... The baby feels like a boy, Robert." Her hot breath tickled his skin, making another shiver of pleasure shoot down his spine. And suddenly, he brought her closer for a fierce, yet meaningful kiss. Her hand tightened in his, and the hand on his suit jacket fisted in the fabric. She moaned quietly into his mouth, surprised by his intensity. But it was only a few seconds when he pulled away, smirking at her obvious disarray.

His wife's lips were swollen, her tresses bordered on tangled, and her skin had the most interesting blush. Gold almost chuckled at the sound of her tiny gasps as she sucked in air. "Belle...I'm sorry about all the people today," he said, thinking this the best time to apologize. "Bad timing... It couldn't be helped, though."

Her look of worry returned. "It made me think of what you once told me: "in five years the Gold Family will be completely legitimate." That was seven years ago, Robert..."

Ah. She was right of course. He _had_ told her that seven years ago when she'd been pregnant with Balfour and they'd discussed the future of their family. He'd told her he would leave the mafia business behind and make the Gold Family legitimate. No more dark work, no more killings that she suspected he'd ordered, no more drug running.

If he was to be honest with her, he'd say that would never happen, but instead, he said, "I'm trying, darling." He would keep her out of the loop, out of harm and by his side. She would be safe standing in his protective shadow—where she belonged. "I'm trying..."

The song lasted a few more minutes. When it was over, Gold bid everyone goodnight, called the party to an end, and escorted his wife inside. She immediately went to their bedroom, and he would have followed her had it not been for his need to make sure everything ran smoothly.

Their guests left. His men began cleaning the lawn, though they would save most of the work for tomorrow morning. And soon all was quiet again.

When Gold finally opened the door to his bedroom, he found Belle curled up in their bed. She smiled dreamily at him and accepted his sweet kiss of goodnight, not objecting when his hand snuck underneath the covers and whispered over her nightgown. He cupped her raised stomach through the silk. "Sleep," he chided. "You need to rest, _mo ghaol_."

His wife rolled her eyes. She gestured to his pillow beside her. "Did you see this?" she wondered, pointing at what appeared to be a drawing. Gold leaned over her to pick it up and saw that it was Balfour's drawing of him sitting in the back of a car. 'Papa' was clearly labeled by an arrow. There were two checkboxes underneath the question 'do you like it?' One was 'yes', the other was 'no'. "Precious," he murmured, headed for his desk to look for a pen.

"Robert?" Belle asked, yawning. He heard her stretch on their bed. "Why are the drapes open?"

Gold froze, pen in hand, to stare at the drapes pulled away to reveal the windows. They were rarely open, but most especially, they were never open at night.

Then it clicked.

He dropped to the floor just as the first bullets shattered the windows. Gunshots rang in his ears, but all he could think about was Belle lying exposed on their bed. Debris fell to the ground as he skillfully crawled on the carpeted floor and around the side of the bed. He tugged Belle off, careful to pin her beneath his body, and shelter her head. Bullets zoomed around them, shattering glass and other bobbles. But none of them hit their mark, and when the firing ended, a startling silence met their ears.

Frantically, Gold turned his wife over. She shook beneath him, gasping for air. "Are you all right? Were you hit?" he asked desperately, running his hands over her. She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down. "Belle, were you hit?"

"No," she forced out, shaking. "No—I don't think so—" Tears pooled in her ears, and she buried her face in his dress shirt, quaking when he wrapped his arms around her.

"Stay down." Soon enough, they heard his men shout and run up to the shattered windows. They yelled that no one was there, that all was clear. Jefferson barreled into their bedroom and sprinted out at Gold's demand of a full search of the property. "Find them!" he snarled, hugging Belle to his chest. "And keep them alive, Jefferson!"

"We'll try—"

"_Alive!_"

Whoever had done this would pay. Not only had they tried to assassinate him... They had attempted to kill him in his own home, where his wife and children slept with the expectation that they would be safe. His _family _was in this house. And perhaps even more troublesome was the obvious fact that he now had a traitor in his close circle of friends. Someone had planned this. Someone had opened the drapes.

That someone would pay.


End file.
